Chapter: Fallen {part 1}

Collab with Joshua Deathdealer

Fallen: {part 1}

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Cadance: Why won’t you stop?
Narrator: She was facing him at his worst. Trista tried to get up from the floor and collapsed.
Cadance: I’ve begged you to stop! You promised! *cries; she slams the door and screamed* Look at you.
Narrator: Trista drifted to unconsciousness as she stomped down the hall. Her hair fluttering behind her..

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Trista: *wakes up; opens eyes*
Narrator: Trista swore he heard a whisper; he looks around the bathroom, and finds that he is alone. Pain shoots through his muscles as he staggered to his feet. He throws his arms up to shield his dry eyes from the piercing light coming from the windows.
Trista: *stepping over empty needles he used last night; thinks* Cadance.
Narrator: He had forgotten last night. Last night…he slings door open and staggers down the hall towards the living room. 
Trista: *knocks shins on coffee table; mutters* Damn, why is it so dark? *feels for the couch; kneels to catch breath; thinks* I feel so weak. *remembers light switch; switches it on*
Narrator: Their pictures together that had been taped to the wall were torn and ripped into shreds on the floor.
Trista: *heart sinks; lurches to bedroom door; throws door open; quickly scans room*
Narrator: Cadance’s drawers had been pulled out of the dresser and emptied. Her ring lay atop a folded note on beside table. Frantically he grabs for the note and the ring fell to the floor. 
Trista: *unfolds note; reads* I am so tired of your false promises and lies. You’re a junkie, Tristra. You won’t stop using and you need help. I just can’t do this anymore. I’m sorry. Cadance. *anger boils to the surface*
Narrator: Trista starts to kicks the bedside table. He kicks it until he hears the wood splintering. He grabs a painting that was on the wall and throws it at the window. Glass shattered as he storms into the living room.
Trista: *screaming* 
Narrator: He pushes the TV off of its stand and kicks it as it falls in his way.
Trista: *walks into kitchen; grabs bottle of gin that was hidden behind some cans in the pantry; spins off top; gulps as much down as he can before it starts to burn*
Narrator: He coughs and gasping for air, he heads back for the bathroom. Once he was inside the bathroom, he reaches for his jacket on the floor. He pulls out some pill bottles from his pocket. His hands are shaking as he pours a handful of pills into them and swallows them and chasing them down with a healthy series of swallows of gin.
Trista: *looks at self in mirror; throws empty gin bottle at mirror*
Narrator: The mirror shatters and falls to the floor.
Trista: *pukes from nausea and pains in stomach*
Narrator: He heads back into the living room as everything starts turning really bright. 
Trista: finds the torn pictures on the floor; dropping to his knees and pulling them to him; starts convulsing*
Narrator: The brightness took over.

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Narrator: The brightness fades and Trista looks over a city skyline, standing atop what looks like the tallest of the skyscrapers. 
Trista: * wind pushing him to and fro; braces self* I must be dreaming..
Narrator: The wind around him began to form before his eyes into long funnels and stretch towards him. A gust caught him off guard and knocked him to the ground. 
The thin wind tunnels wrap around his ankles and starts pulling him towards the edge. 
Trista: *screams; tries to pull himself out of its grasp* 
Narrator: The winds shriek, tightening their hold and drags him towards certain demise. 
Trista: *struggle; kicks to break free* 
Narrator: His efforts are futile and the winds wrench him over.
Trista: *grabs at the verge of the building; his fingers scrape off the corner; falls*
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Trista: *sets up; breathing and sweating heavily*
Trista’s Mother: Careful baby. *appears beside him; eases him back down onto the bed* It’s okay baby I got you. *puts her hand to his head; wipes back his damp hair* you need to rest, Trista.
Narrator: Weakness carries Trista back to the nightmare. Back to a fog...
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Narrator: Six days later the wind coming through the crack in the car window blew in Trista face as he and his mother drove towards the nearest rehab. The courts had decided that considering the damage done to the apartment and his prior history of being a drug user that he needed twenty eight days of rehab. Death metal blares from his earphones as his mother argues with someone on the phone. Trista's mind was on the nightmare.

Reviews

[Silent Knight]

Sounds very interesting. I would like to see this drawn out into an anime. I would ask if I could be of assistance, but my art skills are not worthy. Also, I would suggest making the text a bit bigger because it hurt my eyes trying to read it. Maybe that is because my eyes are desperately needing new glasses. idk.